


All Ears

by Snowmane



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Gen, Pointy Ears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-21 17:18:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2476142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowmane/pseuds/Snowmane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another old one I found on my hard-drive and decided to polish up a bit. Romance between Zevran and the female Dalish Warden, it strays from the original story in ways of story-telling but should be still alignable with the plot of DA:Origins. Six chapters centered around the idea of pointy ears.<br/>Hope you enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1.

He had a hard time trying not to touch her ears.  
A simple, but odd statement, if he’d ever tell someone about it. But it was true. His martyrdom had started when Leliana, lovely Leliana with her singsong accent and charming manner, had all but poked his temple and told him he had short ears. Laughing, Zevran had turned towards her, catching her hand in his before she could nudge him again.  
“And what do you expect me to do with this observation of yours, dear bard?” He had held her hand for a few seconds more before releasing it.  
“I don’t know.” Leliana was smiling, too, her red hair shining in the firelight. “I just realized it today, you know. When you and our leader were going through the extra armour we collected, to find out what to keep and what to sell, you both tried on that horrible helmet, remember?”  
He nodded at that. Around midday they had met a travelling merchant other than Bodhan and decided to use the opportunity to get rid of some unnecessary weight in their packs. Morrigan had sold the herbs and plants she had collected, Alistair an old shield he had no need for anymore. Wynne bought some elfroot for her potions, Sten a loaf of honeyed bread and Leliana had in vain asked for a pair of shoes. While the others haggled and bargained he and their Dalish leader had quickly sorted trough their shared pack of poisons and traps. On the bottom they had rediscovered a horrible pair of old boots and a simple leather helmet. They tried on both items, decided they did neither fit nor look any good and sold them off together with several flasks of dubious contents. Nothing too exciting. Maybe for Sten, but not for him.

“Well, I was just standing around, so I watched you two and I couldn’t help but notice your ears are shorter than hers. Even though you are taller”, Leliana continued, even if her excitement faltered after a few words. “Am I making you feeling uncomfortable?”  
“Why? It’s not as if you are insulting my skills on the battlefield or in bed.” Zevran gave her a decidedly flirty look, which made her giggle melodically. They had long decided that they were too similar in training to be lovers, but they enjoyed each other’s company as friends. Sometimes they would flirt, just for the sake of it and laugh about it afterwards. He knew she was eying Alistair since weeks and he… well, he had his target set as well.  
“But”, the Crow continued, “I am a bit offended you think my ears too short instead of hers just being too long.”  
“I don’t know.” Leliana shrugged her shoulders. The movement made her cloak slide down from her neck and she hurried to shove it up again. The night was cold, even with the fire burning beside them.  
“I could never ask the Warden about it. Well, I could but that might very well be the last thing I ever say. She’s easily offended by any comment about elves coming from me. In hindsight it was a big mistake to ever start the discussion about the elven servants working in Orlais.” The bard sounded truly sorry at the last part. Zevran could only vaguely remember the discussion. He had walked at the end of the group, jesting with Alistair when Leliana tried to make a bit of small talk with the female Dalish. She obviously had chosen the wrong subject as the talk was ended by the Warden’s icy retort after a few sentences.  
“She’s touchy about it, yes”, he agreed. “But not only if you are the one talking. It seems more of a general dislike.” The assassin reached down to the fire, taking up his half-emptied mug of tea. “Actually, it wonders me a bit. As a Dalish I would have very much expected her to not care about the lot of city elves at all.”  
“But aren’t you… well… the same people?” The woman sounded confused.  
“Not at all”, he sighed and took a quick sip. “At least if you ask the Dalish. We are even less worthy in their eyes. Humans are bad, but elves who submit to them? They’re _flat-ears_ , cowards. Weak and despicable.”  
“That’s horrible! You can’t be serious, Zevran.”  
“I very much am. Like I said, I was surprised she did not spit on me the first time. The Dalish are proud people and they do not like to be reminded that they, too, once were little more than slaves.”

They were silent after this, both contemplating on what had been said. The night was clear, which he was thankful for. It meant a break from the never-ending rain, even if it was colder without the protective layer of clouds above them. Leliana stoked the flames and shifted her coat, but she seemed to be deep in thought now. Maybe what he told her had been a bit extreme, but basically that was what he learned from the Dalish he met. Even if their leader was treating him with more respect, he was sure she would prefer the company of another Dalish over all her companions any time. Alistair had let him know she had been even worse in the beginning; not talking to him at all and aiming an arrow towards anybody who dared to speak up to her. Morrigan was the only other person – besides her Marbari and the huge wolf she kept - she got along from the very beginning. He could very well see why. The Witch of the Wilds and the child of the endless forests, they shared knowledge and stories none of the other’s knew. And both obviously disliked any kind of settlements. He had been excited when they finally entered a bigger city to stock up supplies, but the Warden’s eyes had first widened in shock and then hardened in repulsion. By the time they reached the market she was dripping with sweat and after an hour had started shaking from anxiety. When Alistair asked about it, he got a long angry rant about how filthy and disgusting the whole place was, but it was easy to see that she was, in fact, completely panicking. Zevran took a mental note never to put her in confined or crowded places after that.

“Soooo, back to the ears”, Leliana’s melodious accent interrupted his line of thinking. “Why are yours shorter? Or hers longer, whatever you prefer. Is it a Dalish thing?”  
“I don’t know, I am no Dalish myself”, he answered. It wasn’t completely the truth, but enough of it to not make him feel as if he was lying to her. “I never realized it before, actually. I mean, yes we have pointy ears. But that’s it, isn’t it? Yours look different from Wynne’s or Alistair’s, too. Just like noses, eyes, fingers, bosoms-“  
“Zev!”  
“What? I’m trying to get the message across. Although, I do not think Alistair has a lot of bosom to begin with.”  
“So it has nothing to do with you being a city elf and her one from the Dales?” She demonstratively ignored his quip.  
“I don’t think so. Maybe a bit. Like we Antivans tend to have darker skins than Fereldans. Or like there are a lot more black-haired people in Llomerryn than in Val Royeaux.”  
She nodded at that. “Sounds reasonable. Sorry for bothering you with that but I was wondering about it and did not dare to ask the Warden. Or to ask you while she was around.”  
“No bother.” He stood up and stretched his aching back, setting the now empty cup aside. “Gonna wake her up now, though. It’s time for the second watch and there’s a pillow demanding my presence. You should get Sten, if he is not already awake and brooding in his corner.”  
“I’ll do. Good night, Zev.”  
“Night, Leli.”

He would not admit it, but when he was curled up under his blanket the Crow ran his thumb over the rim of his right ear. _Too short, pah._ They were normal elven ears, pointy and all that. Enough for some human to see him as a second-class being, yes, but there were more physical differences between elves and humans than that. _Knife-ear_ was just the easiest thing to pinpoint it on. He snorted, and then chuckled to himself. Leliana was great company, but her thoughts sometimes were a bit odd.


	2. 2.

To his defence he did not think about ears again for weeks, pointy or not. There were Darkspawn ahead, and treasures and corrupt politicians and even more Darkspawn. It was mainly Darkspawn, really. They were climbing up the Frostback Mountains right now, making their way towards the dwarfen city of Orzammar. Zevran was relieved to hear they weren’t headed for the Brecilian, as he had no interest in meeting any more Dalish. Especially since their leader seemed to be warming up slowly, joining their evening rounds at the fireside and even making jokes here and there. Maker’s breath, jokes! He never would have guessed there was any humour left in her bony frame, but there it was. Quick-witted, rascally, a bit sarcastic, too - he liked it. Alistair was practically glowing when she nudged him with her elbow one evening, defending his horrible stew against Leliana’s and his joined complaints.  
Zevran was afraid she would change to her old self as soon as she was home again. He was just starting to get used to their leader’s actual personality. The Warden never had been a stoic one to begin with, he’d guess, and with every quip and snarky remark her mask seemed to break further away. Under it was a young woman who missed her home and had way too much responsibility put on her small shoulders. But she carried it with a grim smile on her tattooed face and spit on the boots of any authority daring to stand in her way. “I’m a Dalish” she would answer whenever one wondered how she could keep going.  
_How could you walk with this wound?_ – “I’m a Dalish, we’re tough.”  
_These blades have been poisoned_ – “I’m a Dalish rogue, I had my share of poisons, believe me. They become less effective after a while.”  
_You just slapped a noble’s son!_ – “I’m a Dalish. I couldn’t care less about how noble this brat thinks it is.”  
Sometimes it felt like “I am Dalish” was the only possible reason for whatever she did. But maybe it really was for her.  
Altogether they were finally making progress and the Crow was in a rather bright mood - at least for someone who was just climbing up a mountain covered in snow in his summer clothes. Alistair had lent him his cloak, which was a great relief, and after two days of snow Wynne had actually draped a scarf around his neck in a most motherly fashion. He successfully ruined the mood by mentioning her bosom, but deep inside he was moved by their kindness.

They were only one more a day of walking away from the entry, at least if the cards were right. He was sitting at their meagre fire again, rubbing his ice-cold hands together. Third watch, at least they would set off right afterwards. Zevran wasn’t sure if he could find any sleep in his now icy tent. Huddled under the blanket beside him was the Warden, Lyna, as he knew now, her eyes following the slow but steady fall of snow around them. He would have liked to pull her closer, not only because of his growing interest in her but simply for the warmth. Because she _was_ warm, he could feel her body heat seeping through both their armour on his left side. Just an embrace, he would do his best to make it as chaste as possible. Slowly Zevran lifted his left arm. Gentle and slow, don’t startle her, he told himself. She might take down a Hurlock laughing and face demons without batting an eye, but he had found out she was rather shy when it came to flirting. Or any kind of touching. Or worse, both of it at once as he had tried two weeks ago. It ended up with an angry Marbari on top of him, who obviously misinterpreted her surprised cry and a rather flustered Warden trying to keep said dog from ripping out his throat. Not _quite_ as romantic as he had planned.  
No, he would coax her closer step by step; she would not even realize he was seducing her. After all, he was Zevrain Arainai, he had a reputation to loose! And a bet with Leliana. Looking as innocent as possible the assassin skidded closer to her. Just an inch…  
He froze as she jerked her head in his direction, her whole body tense as a drawn bow.  
“Ah, I’m sorry, I –“, he started, but she interrupted him.  
“Shhh. Did you hear that?” She leaned forward, staring into the darkness on the other side of the path. Zevran tried not to relax too much. Good, she hadn’t caught him. Dutifully he strained his ears but could hear nothing but the fire’s occasional crackle, Alistair’s low snoring and their own breathing. Lyna furrowed her brows and rose to her feet, ears twitching. “I was sure I just heard something move…”  
He tried not to stare, but _her ears were twitching_. And they really were longer than his. More pointy, too. Why had he been called knife-ear his whole life when the Dalish seemed to add a whole new definition to the term? With the next move of her head her hair fell into her face, hiding the ears from his sight again. Well, at least he knew what Leliana had been talking about.  
“Should we take a look?” he offered, trying to stop himself from looking at the side of her head.  
“No, it’s fine. Maybe I’m overreacting.” She gave the snowflakes another grim look before turning back. “I’m just not looking forward to going under the earth for the next days.” Shrugging her shoulders she let herself fall down again. In a moment of bravery Zevran wrapped his left arm around her middle and pulled her closer. She tensed a bit but did not fight him. He was making progress, sweet Maker! Gently he padded her side. “It’s okay. We’ll hurry and be back on the surface as quickly was we can. Orzammar is not that big, I have heard. And you have a charming way of dealing with nobility.”  
“You mean pointing an arrow at them? I wouldn’t consider it charming. But it’s effective, yes.” She hesitated and then ever so slowly leaned her head against his shoulder. “I hope you are right, though.”  
“I like your methods. They are rather… Antivan. Pointing weapons at people and such.”  
A small giggle escaped her and he smiled, too. Not about his joke but about the comfortable warmth that was spreading from her into his clothes. It felt good to hold someone again, even if it was a chaste side-hug like this one.  
“I don’t know if this is a compliment or an insult. I take it nobility is a rather popular target for a Crow?”  
“It is. Have I ever told you the story of the old lord I had as a target? Real dog and duck gentry, believe me…”  
Zevran pulled the cloak tightly around their shoulders and they talked until the first light of the morning peeked over the ragged mountain tops. He told her of his home, of summer days so hot you could not walk barefooted on the sand-coloured stones. Of spices in buzzing markets and how he once was beaten for stealing an orange. Lyna listened and laughed before telling him of trees so high you would not see the sky for days and clear streams which tasted of moss and ancient stone. About the one time she tried to ride on a Halla and a friend of hers who wished herself a Griffon for namesday and got mockery instead. About how she broke one of the boys’ noses because he made the griffon-girl cry and had to muck out the Halla pen for weeks. They agreed on the fact a Griffon would be a very fine beast to have, but rather complicated to feed.  
When they set off towards Orzammar in the first light of the day Zevran’s feet were so cold he couldn’t feel his toes, but there was comfortable warmth curling in his stomach.


	3. 3.

The Deep Roads were no place for a Dalish, as they soon had to find out. She was helpless down there, loosing orientation, walking right into cave-ins, biting her lips until they bled in a futile attempt to hide her fear. It didn’t matter, they all could see her shaking whenever the tunnels became narrow and the ceiling low. They all heard her toss and turn at night instead of sleeping. She ate rarely and spoke less as every passing day deepened the shadows under her eyes. The only moment Lyna turned back to her old self was within fights, the adrenaline pushing away her panic for a few minutes. But afterwards she would turn into a ghost of their leader – pale, silent, eyes widened and fingers cramped around her useless bow.  
Alistair stepped up and started leading the group with help of Leliana and their strange dwarfen companion, Oghren. Wynne tried to calm her nerves with soothing herbs, Morrigan with asking her to help prepare potions and telling her stories of the Chasind living in the Korcari Wilds. He made a habit of pointing at interesting stone formations or small gems stuck in the eyes of the statues they passed, everything to keep her from her own dark thoughts. She did not even listen most of the time. Sten… well, he looked down on her und mumbled something which sounded very much like “unworthy” to his ears. Though not helping in general it made her angry enough to keep going for another day.

It must have been around their tenth night in the Deep Roads. Time was hard to track down there, but he could not stand her restless turning one moment longer. Some part of him was worried, a fact he did not approve of too much; some other simply wanted to sleep. And there was small, very much Crow-ish part in him that saw her strong will faltered and defences as low as never before.  
So he stood up from his bedroll, walking over to her without making a sound. Sten was holding watch and even though the elf could feel his gaze following him, he was sure the Qunari would not care much as long as he did not sneak up to their leader with a knife in his hand. As he was currently unarmed as well as without armour, the giant warrior kept still and turned around to face the tunnels again. With a confident expression, Zevran kneeled down beside the Warden. She was pretending to be asleep, but from the way she had tossed mere seconds ago he did not let himself be fooled. Reaching out, he tugged the blanket back into place, smoothing it out over her shoulders. Lyna’s eyes flew open, ears perking up at the sudden touch.  
“Shhhh, there, there” he whispered, bending over her. “You should try to catch some sleep, my dear Warden. You’re wearing yourself out.”  
She turned around to face him, propping herself up onto one elbow. “I’m sorry if I woke you, Zevran. But I’m fine, don’t worry.”  
The other elf shook his head. “No, you most definitely are not fine. You don’t sleep, don’t eat and half of the time I am afraid you’ll just collapse in the next squeeze. It’s being underground, is it?”  
He could see the thoughts turning in her head as she bit down on her lip again. He tried not to notice how chapped they were. Lyna did not like to show weakness, a thought he understood well, but this was not the right moment to discuss her idea of leadership.  
When she finally spoke his eyes darted back up to hers. “It’s not only the tunnels, it’s…” she stopped again, searching for words. “I can hear it louder down here, Zevran. The song. The Darkspawn. I can actually feel them near, breathing onto my neck. I hear their thoughts as my own. Alistair says I should shut it out, but I have no idea how. There are tricks, some he got from the Templar, some from the Wardens, but I can’t. I just can’t. They are singing and I must listen and there is so much. I can’t stop it. I cannot.” The words came quicker, spilling out after being hold back so long. She looked up at him, eyes widened and ears sunk down. Almost instinctively he reached out, stroking her hair before cupping her face with his hands. He could feel the muscles in her jaw twitch as she was torn between holding still and backing away. Cautiously, as if trying to pet a wild cat, he tucked her hair behind her ears, marvelling not for the first time at how expressive they were. But sweet Maker, she looked so lost right now.  
He had figured quickly that the Wardens were somehow able to sense nearby Darkspawn, but never thought of the downsides of it. No wonder she was wrecked. Hopefully Alistair would be able to teach her how to shut them out soon. Until then…  
Zevran moved his hands away and laid down on the stone floor next to her, watching her torn expression turn into confusion. As silently as he could he scooted closer to her and then pulled the Warden into a tight embrace. She struggled against it and he was pretty sure he would have gotten a blackened eye for this audacity on her better days. But she was tired and scared and he was inexperienced in consoling others. But a Crow was a Crow and he knew a whole lot about lulling others into believing he was safe for them. The only difference was that he did not want her dead – at least not now – but this would be easy, wouldn’t it? So he gently pressed her against his chest, one hand coming up again to stroke her back. Nothing too intimate, just from between her shoulder blades down to the end of her rips. Lyna stilled at that, muscles still tensed but at least not trying to push away anymore. They stayed in this somehow awkward position until she turned her head to press her face against his shoulder, one hand hesitantly coming down to rest on his sternum. Zevran hummed softly, ruffling her hair a bit with his free hand.  
“It’s okay. Believe me, it helps. You told me you always had lots of people around you in the clan, yes? Well, we’re not your clan mates but the whole group is down here with you. We’re all here. It’s good to feel someone is around who is no danger. Not anymore, at least. I failed at that, we both know. You can just sleep, I’ll keep an eye on you. Tomorrow we’re going to ask Alistair to spill his Templar secrets, okay? Heck, I always wanted to know some. I don’t like secrets I cannot get behind. It’s like a locked box. Even if there is only an old sock in it, I want to unlock it. Same with secrets. It’s not like they could banish him, could they? Think about it, they would never be able to sentence him because Morrigan would loose her temper just by seeing them and fry them like chickens…” He all but purred his nonsense monologue into her ear, focusing on the tone of it and less on what he was actually saying. The Warden did not seem to mind and his accent was doing the rest. After a while he slipped into his mother tongue, keeping his voice low and his silly talk going while stroking her back like a child’s. It had the desired effect; he could feel Lyna relax more with every slow motion of his arm. Her eyes fell close, her body unconsciously shifting nearer towards him as she curled herself up like a kitten. Zevran moved both their weight so they lay on her bedroll and not the cold floor, pulling the woollen blanket around them. She murmured something incoherent, maybe it was elvhen, maybe the trader’s tongue, he wasn’t sure. But minutes later she was finally asleep. Unreasonably proud of himself he smoothed her hair back behind the pointy ear and followed her into the Fade.


	4. 4.

The sleep helped, but did little against the group of Hurlocs they encountered sometime around the following afternoon. While healing Lyna’s damaged rips, Wynne discovered her weight loss and from that hour on forced her to eat in the same motherly way she had given Zevran his scarf or scolded Alistair for his socks. The Dalish cursed and hissed under her breath, but gave in after a while. Sleep and regular meals, first steps back to her old self.  
They ventured on through the never-changing tunnels in search for yet another Thaig and Alistair used the time to train her. Childish and oafish as he could be, he was much calmer and rather serious while going through the tips and tricks he collected during his life. She still could not shut the voices out as completely as he did, but managed to at least subdue them to a low murmur after a few more days. Obviously this made the final change to get her back on track, though their overall situation was only getting worse. But with their leader returning to her former strength, combined skills and a significant amount of swearing and cursing, they pushed on and somehow made it out alive.

When they finally stepped outside and the vast sky opened above them, Zevran’s heart jumped in his chest. Laughing he spread out his arms, for the first time enjoying the grey clouds above and the drizzling rain in his face. Looking around he saw Alistair inhaling the cold mountain air in deep breaths, Leliana and her nug on his side. Wynne looked utterly relieved while Morrigan without further ado changed into a raven and swung herself into the air. Well, that was a statement, too. Even Sten smiled, a rare occasion for the stern warrior. The only one who did not seem to enjoy it was Oghren. But Zevran was way to excited to finally be out of this death trap to worry much about it.  
And the best thing? The best thing was Lyna, running and dancing up and down the pathway, dog and wolf jumping around her in excited circles, barking and howling happily. Her hair was trailing behind her, her cloak flying like a grey banner in the wind – well, an oddly thick banner made out of wolf furs, but anyways.  
Her exuberance was catching, so he chased after her, the thankful prayer to the Maker still on his lips. For a few moments he joined her and her dogs in their spree, then without thinking he caught her by the waist and jauntily spun the Dalish in a circle. The ground was slippery and sloping down, so the circle ended up being more of an egg and her feet made contact with the ground again sooner than he had planned. But before he could apologize for grabbing her like this, Zevran lost footing on the loose stony ground, his hands still around her waist, stumbled backwards – and found no more ground under him at all. The two elves had a split second to stare at each other with shocked expressions and then down they went. Stumbling, arms flaying at one moment and clinging to each other for hold in the next they barely managed not to fall while skittering down the slope – it must have looked as if they were completely drunk and trying to kill themselves.  
They were several meters down as they finally managed to stop, small stones still skipping past the hillside beside them. Lyna was clutching at his leather shoulders and he was trying to untangle his left hand from her loosened bowstring without attracting attention. Friend or not, if he so much as scratched her precious bow he’d be dog food.  
“Ah, sorry, I didn’t mean to…” He finally managed to get away from the pesky cord and stepped back quickly, mentally preparing for the lecture he had coming now.  
To his surprise the Warden was not angry at all but shaking with laughter.  
“Ancestors, your face was priceless!” the Dalish blurted, trying to catch her breath while – for a change – it was Zevran’s turn to blush. He did not know what to answer so he silently stood while she tried to calm her giggling.  
“No harm done, Zev.” She finally said, wiping tears out of her eyes. “Just give me a warning the next time you’ll try to hurl us both down a mountain, okay?” Nudging him with her elbow she moved to stand beside him, waving to the others to indicate they were both unhurt.  
Zevran followed her glance back up the path and smirked. Leliana’s brows nearly touched her hairline, but there was a knowing grin in her face. Alistair looked relieved to simply see them in one piece and without broken limbs, Oghren was trying to hide under a rock and Morrigan was still circling as a bird high above their heads. The way Wynne and Sten looked at him should have given him pause, but he decided not to care. Instead he placed a quick peck on Lynas cheek and then whistling strolled down the path as if he had not heard her surprised gasping behind him.


	5. 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is the closest to NSFW I have ever written. Please excuse my bad style, I am not one for explicity. But as the rest of the world is happily playing Inquisition I needed to do something else. I have the game since two days but my PC is too old. Right now it looks as if I'll have to wait until the summer to play it...*sighs*

It was incredibly hard not to touch her ears. Lyna’s face was mere inches away from his, her amber eyes watching him intensely.  
They had danced around each other for the past weeks. He had opened up about his past, told her about the mother he never met, the whores and Crows which had raised him instead. The next day she gently pressed a pair of gloves into his hands. Startled, he nearly refused them before understanding their meaning. Before understanding that she cared, somehow.  
Her tainted clan mate had died by her hands and he held her all the night while she cried and raged in turns until exhaustion claimed her. They had shared names none of them even whispered for such a long time – Rinna, Tamlen, Taliesin – and shared the grief which followed, too. Shared food and water, potions and poisons, equipment of any kind and when more and more days had passed, even her pillow and blanket.  
And tonight she finally was his. Tonight he was sitting in her tent, the dog shut out and the wolf gone to whatever place she summoned it from. Tonight she was wearing little more than a linen shirt and a pair of old trousers cut above the knees and tonight she sat on his lap, her knees pressing against his thighs as he pulled her into yet another kiss.  
Lyna did not taste like a typical woman. But normally the woman he bedded would not fight Darkspawn and lead people into a war. They would wear silk and jewellery and smell of expensive perfumes. They had soft hands, red lips and long locks curling all the way down to their hips. Or – he mused – they would be Crows like him, leather and blood and a drop of poison, a quick escape in a corner between two jobs.  
Her hands were as rough as his, the three middle fingers of her right hand calloused from pulling the string of her bow. Her lips were chapped because she would bite them when she got nervous, her hair roughly cut short with a hunting knife and only starting to grow back to its old length. Lyna did taste like the leathers she wore all day and maybe a bit like copper, but mostly like he imagined the Brecilian to taste like. Like moss and pine needles and the silver streams she loved so much. Zevran found himself already addicted to it as he strayed from her lips to her jaw and down the neck. Fists clinched she barely suppressed a sigh as he curiously nibbled the soft skin.  
“Zev…”  
He hummed as an answer, both hands slipping under her tunic and up between her shoulder blades. He was not surprised to find them just as wiry as the rest of her body, stringy muscles from her life as a hunter and a Warden, worn thin by forced marches and the hunger she refused to give in. His hands moved down her back, not soothing and chaste like weeks before, but showing her quite clearly what exactly he was wanting from her. Oh, and now she did sigh, her whole body shivering. Good to know he still had it in him.  
“Tell me if I do something wrong” Lyna’s voice trembled a bit, maybe because of uncertainty, maybe because his searching fingers just found the laces of her breast band.  
“There’s no way to do this wrong, my darling Warden.” Smiling Zevran moved his hands away from under her tunic and rubbed his thumb over her tattooed chin. The curling lines of the vallaslin carved into her pale skin seemed to move as she smiled shyly back at him, not yet realizing that the small leather thong which held her undergarment in place had gone together with his hands. With a sly grin he dangled the band in front of her face and laughed as her expression gave away her late realization. With a surprisingly girlish squeal her arms flew up to press the now loosened strap of fabric against herself, keeping it from slipping down completely. How could she think this innocence would put him off? He had more than enough experienced lovers in his life, Crows or whores, both taught to please even if the reasons differed, the occasional target, too. He knew enough of lust and need and greediness to fill a lifetime. But this? His fearless leader all flushed because she might loose her breast band while still being fully covered by a tunic? It was like a drink of cool water after spending the night in a stifling room.  
Still smiling, he carelessly flung the leather band over his shoulder and pulled her back into his arms.  
“Well, I think there is something you could do…” Zevran purred against her skin, his mouth back at her neck. Under his lips he could feel her pulse quicken and needed a good amount of self-restraint not to playfully bite her.  
“What would that be?” Lyna shifted again, her hands slowly finding their way back from her chest into his hair where they had been before. Her fingers drew slow circles on the nape of his neck, nails scratching at his hairline. Yes, he definitely had missed this sort of touching. The caressing, the kisses… he felt as if he had starved himself from it the last months and now it was getting more and more difficult to hold back. _She deserves better_ , he told himself again, _be gentle and slow. Gentle and slow…_ Ah, Maker forgive, he always had been impatient!  
“How about taking off this tunic of yours? Like, right now…” When she did not react right away he slid both his hand under said clothing again and teasingly ran his fingers up and down her stomach. He felt raised scars but also the flat muscles moving just beneath her skin as the Dalish leaned into the touch. Agonizingly slowly she started pulling off her shirt and he was inclined to believe she was being a bit coy until he caught the look on her face: This wasn’t shyness; this was Lyna being her actual rascally self and trying to tease him. Well, it worked.  
For the next few moments they simply looked at each other, Lyna trying not to show her nervousness and playing with her hair instead, while Zevran took in all the pale skin now laid bare to him. The design of her _vallaslin_ continued on her torso, blood-red lines coming from somewhere on her back down over her ribs just to vanish again above her hipbones.  
She caught him licking his lips and laughed anxiously at that. “Thought you were the only one with a tattooed back?” _Trying to change the subject, Warden?_ He gave in, though, putting the need to run a hand down her chest away for later.  
“I did not know _vallaslin_ extended further than the face. Maybe the throat, but I would not have guessed that, no.” Zevran admitted, his eyes still searching for all the small details. There was a white line over her ribs, a dark red one on her hip, a jagged zigzagging one right above her heart. Dozens of smaller marks, too, almost vanished from time and magic. He never had minded scars as they made a person more interesting – and from this point of view Lyna was a very interesting elf.  
“Well, they aren’t vallaslin, although the ink and the technique are the same.” She was obviously proud of them and his open appreciation made her blush a little. Brushing her lips quickly over his and moving down from his legs – an action Zevran commented with a small growl – she sat down next to him, turning around and holding her hair to the side with one hand. First Lyna could feel his breath on her skin, then his fingers slowly tracing the lines: Coming from the edge of her shoulders over her blade bones, nearly meeting between them before swinging outwards again. Down the ribs, back together just above the waistline to – Zevran’s finger stopped at the waistband of her trousers, impatiently tugging at the fabric.  
“So… where does this one end?” His one hand stayed at her back, the other playing with her hair and gently pulling until she tipped her head back towards him. The lips on her throat effectively robbed her of her voice until Zevran contented himself with merely embracing the Warden from behind.  
“They don’t go all the way, if you want to know this. Just down to…to… what’s the word for that? The dents your hipbone… makes on your back? Left and right… to the spine?” Lyna furrowed her brows but could not remember the right word. Or maybe she just couldn’t think straight anymore because a certain Crow was running his fingers over her chest, his touch too light to satisfy her, almost tickling. He was trying to drive her insane, was he?  
“Don’t ask me. I’m not a native speaker, either, remember?” Zevran chuckled, the vibration running through both their bodies. “You could just take those pesky trousers off as well and let me see, though.”  
The Dalish stilled for a moment and he feared he was pushing her too much when she wriggled out of his grasp and turned around, the mischievous twinkle back in her eyes. “I would, but seeing you are completely clothed, I’d say it’s your turn, Zev.” Lyna bared her teeth in the wolfish grin he knew so well and he used the opportunity for another long minute of kissing. His own clothing was gone quickly afterwards, changing their roles as she was now the one giving him a good once-over and Zevran the one holding patiently still as she brushed a tentative finger over the swirling lines forming a talon on his chest.  
But somewhere his self-control was running thin and before she could ask him about a single symbol Lyna found herself in his lap again. Only this time his fingers weren’t satisfied with keeping it slow and instead explored all the naked skin she was offering him. With one hand on the small of her back he pressed her against him, the soft roll of her hips a bit too well-placed to be accidentally - the slow sway soon made him use his teeth instead of lips. Lyna quickly decided she enjoyed it, her breath only catching for a second and – bless the Maker! – she knew how to rake those nails over his scalp and down the back.  
Breathing heavily he pulled away, cupping her jaw with one hand.  
“There’s one thing I’m itching to do since a while now. You can thank our curious bard for that.”  
She stared at him, puzzled, but nodded her agreement. Charily he turned her head to the side, running the fingers of his free hand over the rim of her ear. Lyna stiffened and then all but melted against him. “Oh, that feels good….”  
“Soft spot, my Warden?”  
“Ears? Always. Although I wonder why yours are shorter.”  
He did not know if to howl with laughter or nudge her for this comment. “Don’t start that discussion. I’ve been through it already.”  
“What? With whom?”  
“Leliana.”  
“That’s… odd.”  
“We are talking about the woman who thinks the Maker is talking in her head and nearly fainted because of a flower pot filled with ash, remember?”  
“I’ll take it back. And I love your ears, shorter or not.”  
“Now my ego is at ease, thank you. Back to topic, yes?”  
“What topi –“ The rest of her question ended in a long whimper as he playfully bit into said ear. Lyna’s eyes fluttered shut as he kept teasing her, kissed the soft spot underneath it, rubbed the pointy tip between his fingers – in short, he tried out at least half the things his mind had come up with during these last days. And from how Lyna was shivering and digging her fingers in his shoulder his ideas had been quite fine indeed. It was wide-spread rumour that elves’ ears were a bit more sensitive than human’s, a fact which had given him some pretty unpleasant moments in his youth and with some targets later on. In the end there was some truth to it, but it took an elf to know just how to do it right. Smugly he switched to her other ear, giving it the same treatment while Lyna writhed in the vain attempt to keep quiet. Zevran made sure she didn’t.  
When he finally let go of her chin she nuzzled against him, either undisturbed by or ignoring the effects she had on his body.  
“I meant it; I like your ears the way they are.” the Dalish said breathlessly, her head comfortably rested in the crook of his neck. Then, with an expression he could not quite read yet, she added: “Those eyes of yours normally sidetrack me, though.”  
Zevran smiled, flashing his teeth like she did before. “Just my eyes? I have a pretty smile, too.”  
Lyna giggled at that, her index finger coming up to touch his lower lip. “Yes, you have.”  
“Don’t forget my handsome features, yes? Or my hands. I’ve been told to have very-nimble-fingers.” He had hooked his fingers into her waistband again and with each word tugged on the laces until they finally became undone. Grinning he shifted her weight and pulled the hindering piece of cloth down.  
“Zev!”  
“What? We both know this tent currently inhabits two _very_ attractive elves. And this clothing of yours is in my way.”  
Lyna threw back her head, laughing and blushing at the same time. “You are impossible, Zevran Arainai.”  
“Been told so before” he answered and pressed her into the furs.


	6. Chapter 6

Denerim was dark and quiet around them, the only sound coming from the soft falling rain on the slated roofs beneath the Arl’s residence. The sun had gone already, the night too young and the clouds too thick for the sleepy moon to shine its light on them. The whole day long they had been on the move, half the time talking to so many people it seemed like Denerim’s whole population. To nobles and their followers, to long-lost sisters and city guards, to drunkards and sutlers, humans and elves and dwarfes alike.  
But now they sat in silence on the edge of the bed, the only light coming from the candles he had lit earlier. Lyna was perfectly still, the patience of a hunter he had yet to learn again, the shadow of her nearly disappearing in the dimly lit room. He touched his fingers to hers from time to time, just to make sure she was still here with him. As the moon finally made his way above the rooftops the rain ebbed away to a slow drizzle. Inch by inch the dull slate was turned into shining silver and he smiled at the unexpected beauty.  
Just as the moon rose they drew nearer to each other, slowly, only half-aware until Lyna was in his arms and he hid his face in her hair. The silence was as comfortable for his mind as the soft linens were for their weary legs and neither of them broke it for a long time.  
It was Zevran who stirred first, smoothing the wild strands of her hair and placing a questioning kiss on the crown of her head. Lyna dipped it back at that, fingers searching for his free hand and taking it between her own so tenderly something in his chest became all warm and fuzzy. His lips found the soft spot underneath her ear almost instantly and he felt her shudder at that. Moving higher he caught her earlobe between his lips, nibbling on it with his front teeth while returning the light squeeze she gave his other hand. She leaned back even more at that, both of them loosing balance and falling onto the mattress. The Warden was caught on top of him; he crossed his arms over her chest and held her there, returning to his teasing in an instant.  
Lyna’s laughter was rough from exhaustion, but it filled the silent room nonetheless.  
“I thought you were going to pierce my ear and not seduce me, Zev.” She somehow managed to wriggle out of his grasp – he should never have taught her so well – and rolled down from his chest, pushing and poking until she was comfortably rested on his shoulder, one slender hand resting just above his heart. He enjoyed the touch for a few seconds before turning to his side as well to face her. Not tired at all anymore he touched his fingers to her brow and smoothed the frown away before toying with her ear again.  
“As you can see, mi loba, I can do both at the same time.”  
“So you don’t need the needle? A shame, I bought it just for the occasion. Should have known you would just… kiss… a hole… in it.” Lyna emphasized her last words with poking coltishly against his chest. Reluctantly Zevran let go off her and moved away so she could sit up.  
“If I did not know any better I’d say you are looking forward to the pain.” He propped himself up on one elbow, eyes and teeth shining in the half-light of the room.  
“Pain? Oh come on, I’m a Dalish. I had more needles in my face than this one” She threw her hair back over the shoulders, smile slowly spreading. “And even you would have to think a long time to come up with something worse than the Warden’s joining ritual, believe me.”  
There was a little pause there as she pulled a thin leather strap up from under her tunic and dangled it in front of his face. The small earring fastened to it shined, the tiny gemstone catching the orange light of the candles. “Plus, which woman would not like to wear her engagement ring as soon as possible?”  
Zevran’s heart made a little jump at this. She had refused it the first time and the memory still stung. For a while he had tried to lock the treacherous thing in his chest back up and throw it in the next deep pit. The pain of loosing Rinna had dulled to an ache he could bear eventually; he could surely do the same thing again. Yet again he had underestimated Lyna’s will. She had accepted his changing behaviour for a while, giving him nothing but warm smiles and friendly words when he was trying to push her away. It took an old friend to clear his mind – the moment Taliesin had aimed for Lyna instead of himself, engaging her in close combat. The agonizing seconds of her being forced to her knees by the much more experienced Crow, one sharp dagger at her throat while he yanked her head back by the hair. Zevran had frozen at this and the only thing which saved both of them had been Taliesin’s own big mouth. While he blurted about doing him a favour and remembering another scene just like this, Lyna had had enough time to call for the wolf. It was the beast who attacked the Crow, who bit and clawed and died for the woman who had for called it. It had been Zevran, though, who finally sunk his blade into his former friends chest, who had watched his eyes break and then mourned him nonetheless of what they had done to each other in the past. Lyna had stood, pale, smeared with blood and then limped away to give him some time to say good-bye. Hours later, his mind finally settled, she came back. And he had finally spoken the truth. When he ended, he offered the ring for a second time - and she had accepted happily.  
Since that day she was wearing it on the string around her neck, a strange glow in her eyes which made him feel infinitely pleased. Although he had promised to help her place the earring in its designated spot nearly a week ago, they simply never had the time or quiet to do so until now.  
With low hum Zevran climbed off the bed and gathered the few items needed. A bottle of strong spirit, still corked, a clear linen rag, a burning candle, the thick metal needle Lyna had bought today. She had tried to talk him into simply using one of her bone needles and a piece of apple to pierce it but he’d rather do it the way he learned. So she had shrugged her shoulders and had taken to collecting everything he enumerated.  
Climbing back onto the bed he motioned her closer and she all but threw her head into his lap, nearly hitting the bottle of spirit with her jaunty motion.  
“You really are excited, are you?” Smiling he uncorked the bottle and she turned her head so he could rub her ear clean with the alcohol.  
“Sure. I was all aglow before I got my vallaslin, too.”  
“This might be a bit different.” Holding the needle into the flame to clean it, he put the cork behind her lobe so he wouldn’t pierce right through it and into her neck.  
“I guess so. You would make a terrible Keeper and this is surely not going to take all night.”  
“Hopefully. I’ve got other plans with you.”  
“Hear, hear!” Lyna wanted to say more, but with a swift motion Zevran pressed the red-hot needle through her ear. She did not flinch or cry out, simply grew still while he moved it around to make sure the hole was big enough and then changed the hot metal for the small ring with its tiny gemstone. After adding some more of the liquor to disinfect the wound he nodded to himself and blew out the candle.  
“All done.” The woman sat up, moving her head a bit as if to get used to the feeling of something dangling from her left side. Curiously she lifted a hand to touch it but Zevran shook his head. “No touching now. You will have to move it a bit every day from now on so it doesn’t grow in. But no fiddling around or it will get infected.”  
She pulled a face but obeyed. Instead her hands found their way into his hair, pulling him into a kiss passionate enough to startle even an ex-Crow like him. When they parted to catch their breaths she whispered something in his ear. It was elvhen and sounded very formal, even if he could not make out the words. But there was an unexpected feeling of belonging in it and as she entwined her fingers with his he felt something shift into place he never had known was amiss. Pausing for a second he tried to carve this moment into his memory. His Lyna, his rascally Dalish hunter, his betrothed. Zevran would not forget it, no matter what would happen during the next days. At least for this one night the arch demon itself would not be able to take her away from him.


End file.
